


Crown of Roses

by timelocked



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Intended to be Canon Compliant, R plus L equals J, not sure how well that worked out but oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelocked/pseuds/timelocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wouldn’t stop wearing that damn crown.</p>
<p>Brandon tore it off her head the second they were inside their tent, throwing it to the ground and going into a tirade about honor (and how little of it the crown prince possessed). He stormed out of the tent a few minutes later to “go riding” and when he got back the crown of pale blue flowers was nowhere to be found. He assumed Ned or Benjen had disposed of it.</p>
<p>He hadn’t noticed Lyanna pick it up from the ground the second he’d turned his back and place it into her bag gently so it wouldn’t get ruined, covering it with one of her dresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crown of Roses

**Author's Note:**

> So like it says in the tags, this was originally intended to be canon compliant, but then A World of Ice and Fire came out and screwed up everything I thought I knew about R+L=J, so sorry about that. Also, this fic is pretty much un-beta'ed, so I apologize for any errors!

She wouldn’t stop wearing that damn crown.

Brandon tore it off her head the second they were inside their tent, throwing it to the ground and going into a tirade about honor (and how little of it the crown prince possessed). He stormed out of the tent a few minutes later to “go riding” and when he got back the crown of pale blue flowers was nowhere to be found. He assumed Ned or Benjen had disposed of it.

He hadn’t noticed Lyanna pick it up from the ground the second he’d turned his back and place it into her bag gently so it wouldn’t get ruined, covering it with one of her dresses.

He did notice, however, when it was back upon her head again as Rhaegar and Lyanna danced around Harrenhal’s dining hall after the tourney’s final feast. The next morning, before Lyanna woke, he went through her things, found the crown, and tore it to pieces, leaving them in front of her. He thought he heard muffled sobs coming from inside the tent as he began preparing their horses for the long journey back North.

\--

“Do you want Father to see you wearing that thing?” Benjen asked as he rode up behind Lyanna, making a grab at her head.

“Knock it off!” she shouted, leading her horse away from Benjen as he chased her in a circle. Finally, he caught up with her, making a wild grab and nearly falling off his horse as he plucked the crown from her head.

“What the hell, Ben?” Lyanna asked as she turned her horse around to face him.

“I don’t want to know where or how you got this -”

“I made it,” Lyanna interrupted, a steely edge to her tone.

Benjen gave her a pointed stare. “If Father sees you wearing this, you’ll never leave Winterfell again, not even to marry Robert.”

“And who said I’m going to marry Robert?”

For a moment, Benjen stared at his sister. Her expression dared him to challenge her, and he wondered if she really believed she wouldn’t have to go through with the wedding. “This has to stop, Lya,” Benjen said, trying to sound older than his thirteen years. “Now.” He shoved the crown into his saddlebag and rode forward, hoping Lord Rickard hadn’t noticed their absence at the front of the caravan.

Two hours later, when he found Lyanna again amongst the crowd of riders, another crown of roses was perched atop her head. He reached inside his saddlebag, feeling the flowers at the bottom. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. _I tried, Brandon_ , he thought, wishing not for the first time that his brothers had come home with them instead of going back to Barrowtown and the Eyrie. Maybe they could knock some sense into their strong-willed sister.

\--

She wore the crown everywhere. Benjen wasn’t even sure if she took it off to sleep. She never wore it to meals, of course - Ben liked to think that was because of what he’d said to her on the kingsroad, but he also knew Lyanna had more sense than that. Lord Rickard had given her quite a scolding just after her “crowning,” asking questions that made Benjen feel so uncomfortable he’d had to leave the tent. Still, he was amazed at her boldness, wearing the crown around the castle every single day in full view of everyone. And whenever one crown began to wither, she’d appear the next day with a new, fresh-looking one. Benjen knew the godswood had a large crop of blue winter roses, but he was certain Lyanna would run out eventually.

One day, Benjen ran into Lyanna in the raven’s tower. The maester was in a meeting with their father, and he had letters he wanted to send to Ned and Brandon. When he entered the rookery, he was surprised to see Lyanna standing at the window, her back to him, attaching a very thick roll of parchment to a raven and throwing the bird out the window. “Go on, fly,” she said softly, taking off her crown and gently running her fingers across the rose petals. “Deliver that wonderful news to the capital, to my darling pr-” she stopped and whirled around, staring straight at Benjen. “Ben,” she said, her eyes a mixture of fear and anger. The rookery was silent for several moments before Lyanna made her way over to him. “If you tell any living soul about this, I swear by the old gods and the new that you will never see the light of day again, do you understand?” Benjen nodded, doing his best not to look absolutely terrified and failing miserably. Lyanna made her way down the steps and Benjen stood frozen in his spot, having forgotten why he stood in the rookery in the first place.

\--

She saw a smirk on Rhaegar’s face when he glimpsed her. “Have you really kept that thing this whole time?” he said quietly as he approached the heart tree.

Lyanna chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Oh, gods, no. Brandon tore it up as soon as he realized I still had it.” She took Rhaegar’s hands in hers. “I’ve been making them myself. The roses grow everywhere around here.”

“Indeed, they do,” Rhaegar replied, glancing around the godswood. “I never realized how beautiful it is up here,” he mused. “I wish I had the chance to stay longer.”

“You’d tire of it soon enough. There aren’t any women to seduce in the North,” she teased, flashing Rhaegar a smile.

“You know I only have eyes for you,” he replied gently. He glanced up at the roses and plucked the crown off her head. “Let’s exchange this for a real one, shall we?” His eyes gleamed playfully.

Lyanna smiled widely and gave Rhaegar a small nod.

\--

“Lya!” Benjen yelled, his shouts echoing through the halls. When she hadn’t shown up for breakfast this morning, everyone had assumed she’d went riding - her horse was missing from the stables, and she frequently went on morning rides. But when Lyanna still wasn’t back at the midday meal, Lord Rickard sent a few of the household guard out to see if they could find her. The sun was nearly set when they’d come back, saying there was no sign of Lyanna anywhere. Lord Stark had decided to send out a further search party in the morning, but that hadn’t been enough for Benjen. He raced up to her chambers, hoping beyond hope that she would be sitting at her writing desk, scribbling a note to Ned or Brandon or whoever she’d been writing to so frequently this past year.

He slammed the door open, knowing full well that Lyanna would have a fit if she really was inside, and for the first time in his life, he ached to hear his sister yell at him for barging into her room. But she wasn’t draped across her bed with her head in a book, or leaning over a letter at her desk, or even twirling around as she’d been prone to do lately. He scanned the room one final time, hoping to find her in the shadows, but she was nowhere to be -

_No_ , he thought as his eyes rested on the middle of Lyanna’s bed. _There’s absolutely no way. How did the servants not catch this before?_ But they wouldn’t have known what it meant - most of them hadn’t been at Harrenhal that day, and their lord father forbade anyone from speaking of it. _This cannot be happening_ , he thought, shaking his head slowly as all the disjointed pieces began to fit together in his head. “Father!” he called, backing slowly out of the room and finally tearing his eyes away from the crown of fresh blue winter roses that lay on Lyanna’s bed, still able to smell their sweet fragrance emanating from the room.

\--

Ned knew they wouldn’t last, but he planted the flowers over the graves anyway.

He wondered absently where Rhaegar had gotten blue winter roses this far south. He’d never seen any grow south of Moat Cailin, and even those patches were rare outside of Winterfell’s godswood. He’d probably had them brought in by boat, delivered after he’d left the tower. Ned shook his head as he stood. Already the flowers were beginning to wilt, unable to survive the blistering heat _. I tried, Lyanna_ , he thought, feeling his throat constricting. _It’s the best I could do._

“Ned,” Howland Reed called from behind him. “We’d better get going. Starfall’s a long journey from here.”

Ned nodded, keeping his eyes on the fresh graves with the wilting flowers as long as he could before turning to where Howland stood with the horses. Ned paused when he saw the newborn babe in Howland’s arms, still in shock. “Here,” Howland said when Ned approached, handing him a sling made out of light cloth. “You can use it to protect Jon from the sand.”

_Jon._  Ned shook his head, taking the sling and wrapping it around his torso. He climbed up onto his horse before taking the babe from Howland and settling him into the sling. Jon smiled up at Ned, his grey eyes bright with a light Ned knew all too well. Jon giggled as the two men started their horses at an easy pace, and Ned smiled down at him. If this was what he had left of Lyanna, he thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

\--

“Arya, what in seven hells do you have on your head?”

Jon turned, looking up at his father. Lord Stark’s eyes were stormier than he’d ever seen them.

“It’s a crown, Father!” Arya said cheerfully. “I made it out of the roses in the godswood.” She smiled up at him, not understanding her father’s unpleasant expression.

Lord Stark glanced at Jon briefly before turning his attention back to Arya. Jon thought he saw his father smile for just a second before his expression hardened again. “What did I tell you about the flowers in the godswood?” he said, obviously trying hard to keep his tone civil.

Arya sighed. “That they’re the domain of the gods, and we need to respect the gods,” she repeated dutifully. Jon was surprised she could remember that much from her lessons when she spent most of them trying to irritate Sansa.

“That’s right,” Lord Stark said, lifting the crown off Arya’s head. “So no more flower crowns, okay?”

Arya looked down at the ground sheepishly. “Okay.”

Ned smiled at his daughter. “Good girl.” He turned and walked back toward Lady Stark, and Jon noticed her expression, her lips pulled taut and her eyes hard. It was a look Jon knew well, as he hardly ever saw Lady Stark look at him otherwise, but this time it was aimed at her husband.

“Father spoils all the fun,” Arya huffed.

Jon shook his head, watching as his father and Lady Catelyn whispered to each other, glancing back at Jon and Arya often. “I don’t -” he started.

“Come on, let’s go back to the godswood and play hide and seek!” Arya said, jumping up. “I’ll go find Robb and Bran and Sansa.” And she raced toward the towers, leaving Jon to watch her parents shake their heads, Lord Stark looking almost mournful while Lady Catelyn stared menacingly at Jon.

\--

Jon would always remember the first time he was allowed into the crypts.

It wasn’t the first time he’d ever been - he and Robb and Theon had snuck down numerous times, usually on Theon’s urgings, and wandered around the first few levels, daring the ghosts to come and get them. But none of them had had permission - Lord Stark would never have allowed them to fool around in the place where his ancestors were entombed. This was different - it was the first time his father had formally taken him down and shown him the old Kings of Winter.

Robb had gone down with Lord Stark for the first time on his tenth birthday, nearly six months ago. Never mind that Jon was four months older; Robb was the heir to Winterfell. Showing the bastard the family crypt first might make it seem to the other lords that Lord Eddard thought more highly of Jon than Robb, which wouldn’t bode well if Robb was to rule the North after Ned died. Jon understood his father’s reasoning - he’d been putting up with it for years -  but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

Lord Stark led Jon down deep into the depths of the crypts. “I want to start at the beginning,” he said as he closed the ironwood door, leaving just a sliver of light shining through so they could get out again once they came back to the top . Ned took Jon to the lowest level in the crypts, so far down Jon had to squint to be able to make out the statues in the dim light of the torch his father had brought down. For most of that level and half of the next, the statues were so eroded that Jon couldn’t see any faces. The swords laying in the old kings’ laps had long since rusted, and he thought that if he even touched them, they would turn to dust beneath his fingers. Cobwebs covered the huge, snarling direwolves that sat beside each king. Some of the animals were so huge that Jon jumped when he saw them. His father smiled back at him. “I did that, too, when my father took me down here for the first time,” Ned said to him, before they started up the flight of stairs that led to the floor that had the most recent lords of Winterfell, starting with King Torrhen.

Jon was always surprised by how much the statues looked like his father, and even a little like his brothers and sisters. He chided himself silently every time he thought this; of course the statues looked like his family - they _were_ his family. No matter what Lady Catelyn said or did to try to convince everyone otherwise, these people were his ancestors as much as they were Robb’s and Sansa’s and Arya’s.

“And this is my father,” his father said as they rounded a corner and came face to face with the statue of a stern-looking man with a long beard. “Lord Rickard Stark.”

Jon nodded, looking toward his left, past the statue of his grandfather to look at the two remaining statues beyond. One was of a very young man with a devilish smile on his lips, his face frozen in an expression that seemed as though he and Jon were in on a joke.

“That’s my brother, Brandon,” Lord Stark said behind him, his tone shifting from proud to nostalgic. Jon turned back to his father and saw a small smile on his lips. “The stonemason managed to capture him pretty well, I think. Brandon was always the trickster.”

“He looks like Robb,” Jon said, studying the face closer.

Ned was silent as he examined his brother statue. “I suppose he does,” he agreed after a few seconds. “It’s easier to see without your brother’s blasted Tully coloring.” Ned smiled at his own joke, and Jon let out a chuckle. Ned’s smile faded as he walked further, beyond where Jon stood staring at Brandon to the statue to the left. “And this is my sister. Lyanna.”

Jon nodded, walking over to join his father. “I thought you said the crypts were only for lords and kings,” Jon said.

“Well, I think the Lord of Winterfell can make an exception, can’t he?” Ned replied, chuckling. “It was my last promise to her. To bring her back to Winterfell where she belonged.” He sighed. “Speaking of which.” Ned began digging around in the bag he’d brought down with him and drew out a circlet made of the blue roses that littered the godswood. Very gently, he placed the roses on top of Lyanna’s statue, so that they looked like a crown. He must have noticed Jon’s confused expression, because he smiled and said, “It was how I found her, just before she died.”

At that moment, Jon realized why the image of Lyanna and her crown seemed so familiar. “Is that why you won’t let Arya make crowns like that?” he asked.

“So you noticed that resemblance as well?” Ned asked, his smile growing. “That was part of the reason, yes.”

“Did she wear the roses like that often?” Jon asked.

It was silent for a long while before his father answered. “Sometimes, when we were very small. The roses were her favorite flower. She became particularly fond of the crown after -” he stopped suddenly, frowning.

“After?” Jon asked after several long seconds of silence.

Lord Stark shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not important. Now,” he put his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I promised that septon I would have you back in time for a lesson, and you know how fond he is of waiting.” His father began walking toward the stairs, but Jon stayed, staring at the statue of his aunt Lyanna. She felt familiar, and maybe that was because of her resemblance to his baby sister, but the more he looked at her face, he could have sworn he’d seen it before.

“Jon,” his father called after him from the end of the hallway. “Are you coming?”

“Yes, Father,” he said, not taking his eyes off the statue. He looked up at her face one last time and noticed a faint smile playing at her lips, like she had just gotten away with something. Just before he turned away to follow his father back toward the land of the living, he inhaled deeply and breathed in the smell of the fresh blue winter roses that lay perched atop her head, as if declaring her queen of the crypt. When he turned to face his father, he was surprised to find Lord Stark smiling at him, a wide, genuine smile he rarely saw aimed at him.

“What?” he asked, walking back to rejoin his father.

“Oh, nothing,” Ned replied once Jon had caught up with him. “She would have been so proud of you.”

Jon looked at his father, his eyebrows furrowed. _Aunt Lyanna? Proud of the bastard boy that doesn’t even belong here?_ he thought. But he decided not to question it. His father’s answer would probably give Jon more questions, whose answers he wouldn’t get out of his father no matter how hard he tried. He sighed, continuing up the stairs toward ground level, still able to smell the sweet scent of the blue winter roses that adorned Lyanna’s statue.


End file.
